At the center, the powerful brilliance of the sun.
Racing outwards, just minutes at light speed are the inner planets,
Mercury but a dried up rock, Venus sizzling with anxiety.
Green Earth, teaming with life,  a cauldron of confusion and chaos.
Past the warring planet of Mars—named by humans who find no peace.
Asteroids, thousands of them, a planet that once was, pulled apart by invisible forces.
 
After a minute the large planets pass by, Jupiter, the Greek’s God supreme.  Saturn,
Neptune, Uranus and the far distance icy Pluto.
More time passes and than again time. 
Distance is the physical law observed here and gravity is half by its square. 
Further out still, at the edge of the chaotic solar system.  Connected to it by the invisible threads of physical attraction, the Ort Cloud. 
 
Like millions of marionettes they circle the chaotic center played upon by one simple rule, 
The rule of the gravity, the rule of attraction, the rule of the Sun.
From time to time, in a cosmic perspective, the strings playing upon an icy rock are tugged free from the elemental bounds that hold it to its brother.
 
It stirs and free falls for millennium towards its beckoning mistress. 
It falls at dizzying speeds, hurtling towards the center of existence. 
Spewing forth particles of water and the gases freed by the breath of its solar goddess.
Each time it falls it changes, loses parts of itself and becomes a different shape.
An innate object given movement and a semblance of life—thankful to the sun.
 
Its tail grows longer and humans take note. 
For a moment they ponder the infinite, and reflect at the mysteries of the Universe.
And they give this snowball a name, Hale-Bopp. 
Scientists study it and lovers embrace it, if but for a moment.
If the sun doesn’t consume it.  Hale-Bopp will speed on its way.
It tail always pointing, home, towards the darkness of the ort cloud. 

 I am under our dark blanket filled with a million stars,
            My eyes of wonder, gazing at the unknown.
A being rocked by the quiet harmony of waters that are
            Gently, lapping at the hull of an old catamaran.
On a trampoline, with no spring, laying quietly, waiting sleep,
            As night has stolen the laughter of day.
Now a haunting movement begins,
            Sounds of the night envelop me.
Beginning slowly, a chorus of peepers play in the weeds.
            Quiet is soon filled with their deafening din of their enthusiasm.
The night progresses, the second movement now,
            Violins played by loons echo melodiously across the pond.
An invisible hand lowers, the orchestra becomes muted,
            The brilliant stars fade as my mind's eye closes.
 
The peace flows around me....
 
Aware, or am I, conscious of a distant base, a lone voice,
            A horned owl calls out from the hill.
And quiet,
            And sleep.
 
I wake to the noise of nothing,
            It is so unbelievably still, so unbelievably dark.
A dark punctuated only by the millions of miniscule lights,
            In the blanket of my world.
At this hour the lights are different, unfamiliar, characters playing in an ancient riddle.
            But somehow, I am part of them, and they--with me.
 
Cold reaches through my sleeping bag,
            I curl into a ball.
Moist cold air,
            Dew on my bed.
 
The stars twinkle fades,
            Mist rises in the pallor, of a beginning day.
A new sound emerges, thoughtfully, slowly,
            Is it a plodding of a moose through nearby rushes,
Or maybe, with the concert over, 
            It is the usher, telling me it’s time to go inside.

 
Warm breezes rustled the locks of children,
        On those long summer days of youth.
When each day born  a brilliant orb,
        That moved through a sea of blue .
The children's  cheerful voices rang-out,
        Above the din of  day-to-day.
Each time a cloud resembled a ship,
        That sailed by on its way.
 
Those clouds, like ships, steered no special course,
        As they winded their way through the blue.
The days grew shorter, The ships steered straighter,
        Not long til they sailed out of sight.
 
Summer's brilliance waned, the wind a memory
        Of ships at sail at sea.
Those ships from this shore are seen no more.
        Bu t on a distant shore they may....

Love is music that no one else can hear.

 Life as a clock passes inevitably on.
Movement by Movement the face changes, marking the passage of time.
Moment by moment, day by day, each glimpse we are given shows the change.
The days are numbered, our time is counted, by the gentle ticking of the clock.
Not all clocks have their due; some wind down and stop, far to soon.
When they cease to move, we'll still have memories, and these can start them a new.
We'll see again the movement of the hands, tracing a careful path across  the face.
And we'll hear again, that thunderous ring, and the gentle chime.
Of  the time when our hands were joined as one.

Climb
 
Dangling tresses from a sturdy old tree.
      Grayish green moss leaning down almost touching the ground.
            Fingers reaching out to caress my face,
                        I’m eager for their touch,
 
Teasing, beckoning me to climb high into the branches.
      To climb high where you make your home,
            Amid the safety and security of what you know and believe.
                        I’m eager to try, eager to please, willing to rise up for you.
 
                        But the trunk is so large,
                        What is sturdy for you is impossible for me,
                        Impossible to grasp, impossible to climb.
 
                        Slipping down the trunk,       
            Falling in a heap at the base,
Frustrated, wanting, I look up at your fingers still motioning to me
 
                                    climb,
                                                Climb.
                                                            CLIMB!

The poet in us lives only once.

He springs from love, from pain.
When both are gone the poet moves on.
And the philosopher takes his place.
 
He writes the words of understanding,
The thoughts tying up lose ends.
He knows that life is beyond his control,
And to accept what fate decrees.
 
Deep inside the poet's heart is still.
His dreamy eyes are put to rest.
But the philosopher smiles and says all is well.
In a world beyond his control.

September 25th.
I am a confused child, making noise, but no direction
I am an upper air low with a surface trough; I do not know what that means
I wander aimlessly, angry without direction, simply looking to be. 
I find nourishment in my westward march and I madly eat.
 
September 29th.
Birthed in sunshine and weighing 14,971 tons of deadweight,
I am readied for departure by the 33 hands on board
I am carefully guided into the open Atlantic.
I have room to move, my heart pounds.  I am eager, joyous, to race forward at 20 knots
My gaze is transfixed, southeasterly into a greying sky.
 
September 30th.
I am a hurricane, difficult and brooding, undecided on life’s direction.
I am influenced by the sea and I turn yet again to the Northwest, blowing and raining harder now, and harder still.
 
October 1st.
I am prideful, boastful in my strength and eager to show my mother the sea how truly powerful I am.
 
October 1st.
My bow is slammed again and again, by 60 foot waves crashing upon my deck.  The cargo shifts ever so slightly with each impact.  I plow into the biggest of these waves, headlong, directly into the heart of the bellowing beast, guided by my hands. 
 
My engines stop. I don’t know why.  It may have been the fierce jarring.  My heart now broken, I know I can no longer plow into the waves.  I fear for my hands.  For all my great length, I am turned quickly by the wind and the sea.  I am now parallel to the waves. Breached against the wind and sea, all hope is lost.  Now the 60 foot waves and 125 miles an hour winds are full force against my starboard side.
 
I am slammed just a few times before the cargo restraints break free and the cargo spills from my deck.  Attached together, they weigh like an anchor and I list and fall over.
 
Wishing for quiet under the waves, I find it is not.  I am torn apart, breaking up as I sink, I cry for the hands but they are lost, some taken out by the sea but most sink with me.  Darkness and quiet close in.
 
October 8th.
My youthful vigor is gone my power a memory.  Mother no longer nourishes me and I cry my last tears and break up into fragments of clouds on a grey day over Newfoundland.
 
I am the sea. I nourish the storms. I nourish the people. I hold their memories three miles deep.  I make no excuses.  I make no prideful boasts. I am the sea.
.

in a crowded room of 1000 Eyes.
it is my Fancy captured by your guise.
where Bodies float like pollen on the breeze
and voices melt like snow into the Seas.

from within we've Hungrily forged our ties.
a Need so innate, it's hard to disguise.
at games and Laughter we did start to tease,
tender words, warm Embrace, moments to seize.

chance brought us Together, that no wealth buys.
you help me find again, the will to Rise.
where my spirit Soars, unrestrained set free
and love is for you, and maybe  for me.

If I should hear in some distant May,
 Of your death a dreaded dark day.
My eyes would well my spirits sink.
 For those days of yore and that dress of pink.
I'd look to my left, not your face I'd see,
 But the concern of another looking at me.

She'd ask me my troubles, taking my hand;
 I'd turn away fearing, that truth may land.
In stillness I've kept my love alive,
 Living and working, finding the courage to survive.
But each day, a quiet time, my eyes would tear.
 As today as each day and every single year.

Your face, your smile, your voice raised as high,
 I hear you now, signing in the sky.
I asked you of happiness you turned your head to cry.
 If only in life you had the courage to try.
Then I would have loved, instead I longed for you.
 Now with silent tears I dream of a life a new.

I walk to my cave, where I find a retreat.
 My loss final now, my heart does so bleat.
I remember the cottage, the moutain, the lake,
 And that afternoon on the rocks, my memory I can't shake.
With words so true and passion revealed.
 You were so surprised your head must have reeled.

With care and concern you looked into my eyes,
 Held my hand and gaze and told me some lies.
You have feelings you said, but for us not now.
 My body shrank, my soul plunged, my heart did so bow.
Through all these years of life my heart to mend.
 And broken still, to my journey's end.

We race through the celestial sphere above the Earth.  Just two comets held by the invisible strings of gravity, mastered only by the laws of the universe.  Our repeating journey is as old as time.   It started with a push, a burst of energy;  and we’ll race on until the energy is gone.  Only than, to come to rest.  In the darkness at the end. 

I am born of substance in the darkness of space. 
Around me are countless others,  joining the race.
I look at a distant pinpoint of light.
It’s brighter than the other’s; It somehow seems right.
I shake the shackles that hold me here.
And move towards the light, without any fear.

The  time is long the distance so great,
We must travel far to find our mate.
As I near you I realize space isn’t so dark.
That it only shelters life, like a tree’s bark.
Through space I hurtle, thrown like a knife.
My skin turned to energy, I flare to life.

Will I cut you,
Will I burn you,
Will you learn to hate me.

Will I fall to your arms
Will I be lost in your charms.
Will I know you forever, we must wait to see.